


Family Isn't Apple Pie and Picket Fences

by jstabe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jstabe/pseuds/jstabe
Summary: "You and I remember Budapest very differently."
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tiny_Dragongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/gifts).



> This was written for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang (my first!) and will be posted as follows: two chapters today, two chapters Monday, and then three on Tuesday, which is our posting day. Merry Christmas Eve!
> 
> This would not exist without the lovely art done by [Tiny_Dragongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl). Thank you for the inspiration, the Budapest knowledge, and the cheerleading to get to the finish line.
> 
> Thank you as well to my underpaid but always appreciated beta, Ely. You're a gem whenever I pull my hair out and whine that I can't write. 
> 
> As far as the pairing goes, Natasha insists it's no one's business whether she and Clint are or aren't. ;) So feel free to interpret this as you wish.

_New York_

_2012_

After the battle, they somehow end up seated around a table in a restaurant in Lower Manhattan. Despite the destruction all around, the employees had seemed more than happy to serve them. Natasha isn't sure if it's because they look that sad and bedraggled, or if they’d just heard Clint’s stomach rumbling from six blocks away and felt sorry for him. 

They’re sprawled companionably around the table, eating quietly and recharging. Clint is next to her, his leg propped up on her chair and she can’t stop sneaking glances at him. He seems fine, back to himself after Loki, but she knows it won’t be that easy. He’ll need time to come to terms with the things he’d done while under Loki’s thrall. Clint is like her in many ways, but his moral compass is far more rigid than hers. He won't shrug this off easily, but he will get better. She'll make sure of it. 

He glances up at her and smiles a little, knocks his booted foot against her hip. "I’m fine, Nat. Just beaten up and bruised.” He pouts. "Most of those are from you. I can't believe you bit me!" 

"You pulled my hair," Natasha counters. 

Stark snorts at them from his seat across the table. "Are those the skills they teach you in master assassin school?" 

"Hell no," Clint laughs. "If she'd used those on me, I'd be dead." 

Steve shifts in his seat, seems to debate before he hesitantly asks, "Are alien invasions a thing now?" 

"I really hope not," Bruce sighs, sliding a hand wearily through his hair. 

"Let's not borrow trouble, Cap," Tony says, scowling and pointing a fork in Steve's direction. "Once was enough for me." 

Steve looks startled. "Oh. No, I didn't mean… I mean before today." He glances at Natasha and she can see the confusion in his eyes. "You said something about Budapest." 

"Ah, that." Natasha smiles. 

Clint is shaking his head and laughing. "Nah, man. I swear there were no aliens in Budapest." 

Steve doesn’t look convinced and the rest of the group seem to be waiting for an explanation, but Natasha just smiles and reaches for her water glass.

⧗➳⧗

They go their separate ways immediately after the battle. Thor takes Loki back to Asgard; Steve heads off on his own; Tony and Bruce go back to what is left of the Tower, Tony already making plans to rebuild. He has extended offers for all of them to come and stay; but right now, they need to recuperate.

Natasha and Clint disappear on a road to trip to anywhere with fresh air and a beach. For someone born in Iowa, Clint acts more like a California boy with his love of water. They spend a glorious six weeks doing nothing but basking in sunshine and saltwater. It does great things for Natasha’s skin and Clint’s mental health. Plus, Clint ends up baked a beautiful gold with streaks of blond in his hair that gleam in the sunlight. He’s always been a handsome man, but now he looks healthy and well-rested. All in all, it’s one of the nicer trips they’ve ever taken. 

They’re working on week seven when they get each get texts from Tony asking if they want floors in Avengers Tower. Clint reads his while sprawled out in the sand on Kauapea Beach. It’s one of their favorite spots thanks to its secluded location and the hike to get there. He snorts, tips his head to look at her as she reads her own message. 

“Suppose that means it’s time to go back,” he says quietly. 

“Admit it, you’re getting restless.” 

He grins at her, the real one that lights up his eyes, and she grins back. “You know me. Can’t go too long without blowing shit up.” 

She hums, digs her toes in the sand. “Still. Doesn’t mean we have to live in the Tower.” 

“It’s a stupid idea if you ask me. Stick us all in one place so we’re easy to kill. But, no one actually asked and...” He shrugs. “Not like I can afford a nicer place than one of Stark’s.” 

She feels the same reservations there that he does, but it’ll be better than anything S.H.I.E.L.D. could offer them. “I guess we’re officially living in Avengers Tower then.” 

Clint laughs as he types out his reply to Stark. “Poor Nat. Hope it doesn’t end up being like a frat house.” 

She snorts indelicately, stands to brush sand off her ass. “What do either one of us know about that?” 

“Good point.” He stands and brushes off as well, slips his feet into flip flops. “Let’s go grab lunch. We can order plane tickets while we eat.” 

They walk back to their rental car hand in hand, relishing the last of the silence while they have it.

⧗➳⧗

New York is, of course, big and loud and Natasha is far more comfortable there than any of the places she and Clint went for ‘vacation.’ It’s easier to get lost in big cities, easier to go unnoticed. There’s a part of her that will always be on guard thanks to the Red Room, but the bustle of New York makes her feel anonymous, safer.

She and Clint had chosen to have separate floors in the Tower and Tony has given them carte blanche when it comes to decorating. She prefers a minimal style, knows that Clint’s space will end up being homier simply for the fact that he’s messy. It’ll feel lived in, comfortable, and she already knows she’ll be spending quite a bit of time there. 

Tony has gone all out when it comes to their new home. The top floors of the Tower are all designated Avengers, with personal floors for all of them. There is a common floor for all of them to hang out on and a fitness area. There is a fully functional medical area, which Natasha is grateful floor. Clint tends to damage himself and she likes knowing he’s going to be well taken care of. 

Of personal interest is the training area. It’s state of the art, obviously designed with the team in mind and she can’t wait to start training with everyone. They’d worked surprisingly well together during the Chitauri invasion considering they’d never fought together before, but Natasha knows they can do better. 

Everyone settles in and it’s easier than Natasha ever thought it would be. Steve and Tony still argue like an old married couple, but that was to be expected. They both might be going for the same outcome in a given situation, but they approached the journey very differently. Thor is in and out thanks to his duties on Asgard, but he’s incredibly easy to get along with now that he considers them teammates. Bruce is quiet and reclusive but can be counted on to show up to dinner on the common floor every couple of weeks. Clint slides into the mix easily, able to joke and laugh with everyone. Natasha keeps to the periphery. She’s enjoying watching this new alliance as it finds its footing. 

Other than Clint, she finds herself getting along best with Steve. It’s surprising, since the two of them are about as different as Steve and Tony are. He reminds her of Clint in a lot of ways, though, and that makes warming up to him easier. She finds herself training with him more often than the rest of the team because Tony would rather be in his lab than in a gym, and Bruce only fights when he has to. Clint has made them both promise to get out more, insisting that living in the gym isn’t good for anyone, no matter how awesome it is. She’d rolled her eyes but acquiesced and he’d grinned at her. It’s surprisingly easy to make him happy, most days. 

The team has been living in the tower for a few months now and she and Steve have taken to running together in the mornings. It’s a Clint-approved activity since it gets them outside and more often than not, they stop for coffee afterward. Natasha always brings back a cup for Clint, who insists that he was not built for running. Or mornings. She and Steve are standing in line and waiting for their drink orders, Natasha trying to ignore the whispers around them. Most New Yorkers are immune to the allure of celebrities in their midst (and apparently the Avengers count, though Natasha doesn’t get why) but there are always tourists, and someone is bound to recognize Steve. Most won’t brave the Black Widow’s scowl to approach him and so they’re on their way soon enough without having to play nice with the public. 

Steve is giving her little looks as they walk, and she bides her time. He tends to have to work up to it when he wants to ask a personal question. It’s kind of sweet, but unnecessary. She takes a sip of her drink, careful not to jostle the carrier with Clint’s coffee and pastry when she hip checks Steve. 

“Out with it, Rogers.” 

He gives her a sheepish smile. “Just thinking, I guess. We’ve been getting coffee almost every day and you always get Clint something new. He seems to like them all and... I don’t know. You know each pretty well is all. It’s nice.” 

She feels a pang at that, knowing that Steve doesn’t have anyone left in this time who knows him like that. Hopefully, this little team they’re building will help with that, but it’s not going to happen overnight. She shrugs. 

“It surprises me how much I don’t hate it.” He shoots her a quizzical look and she grins. “Spy, Rogers. People aren’t supposed to know me. But it’s Clint so it’s different.” 

"It's good that you have that," Steve says, his smile tinged with sadness. It bothers her more than she'd like it to. 

"Clint's a good person." She barely hesitates before going on. "He recruited me for S.H.I.E.L.D." 

She feels the tension in that big body ease, though Steve still seems wary. It isn't until he speaks that she realizes that he's worried about upsetting her. 

"Yeah. I, umm, I mean we heard when you were talking to Loki. Is that how it really happened?" 

Natasha smiles at that. "Essentially. I had escaped the Red Room, but I still carried it everywhere with me."


	2. Chapter 2

_Georgia_

2003 

Standing in the middle of a throng of people in the midst of a revolution should have provided sufficient cover, but she still felt eyes on her. She pulled the hood of her coat up over newly blond hair, her own eyes sharp as she carefully scanned the crowd in front the parliament building. Tbilisi was probably too close to her old stomping grounds for comfort, but she had been unable to resist watching as yet another country freed itself from Soviet rule. Knowing she'd been instrumental in helping push toward this moment was far more satisfying than the money it had put in her bank account. Still, the satisfaction of job well done couldn't mask the unease that she'd been found again. 

She'd known that fleeing the Red Room wouldn't be easy. She'd been hunted, and in the beginning, it had been an adrenaline rush to be a step ahead of whoever they sent after her. She felt a bone deep satisfaction every time she took out one of the mercenaries sent to bring her back into the fold. This man, though, was something altogether different. 

He'd been tracking her for six months, the longest anyone had managed to do so and live. Part of it was because he'd actually not gotten close to her yet. He just kept showing up everywhere she was. A step behind, yes, and he'd never managed to stop whatever mission she was currently on, but it was unsettling. 

Following her instincts was the only thing that kept her alive these days and she did it now without thought, turning to blend into the crowd and leave the square. People provided an excellent cover, and collateral damage didn't bother her. However, too much confusion could make it easier for her to be trapped. She'd seen what she wanted to see here; it was safer to disappear. 

She made it three blocks before the sound of booted feet told her he'd followed. She'd known he would, had intended to lose him in the maze of alleyways that led through the city. Glancing back, she saw that he had a hand in his pocket and somehow, she knew. He wasn't just tracking her this time; this time, he'd been sent to kill her. She didn't even hesitate before taking off at a dead run. She heard him curse behind her before the slap of a heavy tread told her was following. 

She led him a good chase through the heart of the city, nearly empty now with everyone intent on following what was happening at the parliament building. She was young and well-trained, yet she couldn't shake him. She had to buy herself some time and ducked into an apartment building. She ran up the stairs, headed for the roof. The buildings were close enough here that she knew she could make it to another one. She burst through the door to the roof, paused to get her bearings, and that's when he hit her from behind. 

They hit the ground hard, breath caught in her lungs when his weight trapped her. She brought a knee up, but he was quicker, shifting so his thigh took the brunt of her blow. She jerked her head up and caught his nose, making him curse. Hearing English was a surprise; all of the mercenaries sent after her so far had been Russian. 

There was no time to wonder who he was. The blow to his nose had caused his eyes to water, hampering his sight, but he hadn't moved off of her. He was too heavy for her to throw off, so she slipped the small knife from its sheath at her wrist and went for his ribs. It was a bad angle given their positioning, but the second he felt the blade he did what any sane person would and rolled off her. He came to his feet as she found hers, swiping at his eyes to clear his vision. When those blue-green eyes found hers, they widened before he let out an impressive string of swear words. His posture relaxed, and though she didn't understand what was going on, she was smart enough to take full advantage. 

A quick flick of her wrist sent the knife at his head. He ducked instinctively and she took the opportunity to kick grit and dirt into his eyes before sweeping his legs out from under him. She was across the roof and leaping to the next before he even hit the ground. She'd made it across two more before she realized that he wasn't following her. Frowning, she made her way to street level, cautiously crept back to the building they'd fought on. He was coming out the door and turned away from her, walking with a brisk stride that showed his anger. She hesitated then followed him, telling herself that she needed to know who this new player was. The Red Room didn't deal with Americans, and his appearance could spell trouble. Whose radar had she gotten on? 

They were at the outskirts of the city before he went into a non-descript apartment building very similar to the one he'd nearly caught her on. She stayed in the alleyway, undecided, before noticing the light from a third-floor window come on. It was a safe bet it was him. She scaled the balconies until she could crouch outside his and get a look inside. 

It was a simple apartment, with a living area visible through the balcony doors. On the far side of the room, opposite a tiny kitchen, there were two doors. One was closed; one was cracked with light visible. A moment later he appeared from what was clearly the bathroom, stripped to the waist and rubbing at his eyes with a towel. A phone rang and he threw the towel over his shoulder with a sigh, pulled a small flip phone from his pocket and answered with a terse "What?" as he flopped onto the sofa. 

His one side of the conversation was very boring, as all he did was listen. She was more than a little disappointed. If she could have gleaned who he was by the phone call, it would have saved time. Now she would have to wait until he left or fell asleep so that she could search his belongings. Then something that was said made him curse again (his foul mouth made her smile for some reason) before he stood and began to pace. 

"I keep telling you she's good. This is the first time I got close. Want to hear something funny, Coulson?" The man's tone made it clear that whatever was coming wasn't funny at. "She's a kid, goddamn it. You and Fury sent me to kill a fucking _child_." 

That put her back up. She wasn't a child by any stretch of the imagination, never had been. Shaking her head, she gave herself a mental smack. If that misconception had been why he'd hesitated on the roof, she'd take it. She listened as he argued with whoever Coulson was until he finally hung up the phone. For a moment it seemed like he would throw the thing across the room in his frustration before he sighed and slipped it back into his pocket. His shoulders slumped, posture hunched as he walked to the fridge and pulled open the door. 

"You might as well come in," he said without turning around, making her freeze in place. "You're not going to learn shit out there on the balcony and it's cold. I'd like to shut those doors." 

She didn't move a muscle. He could be playing, hoping she'd give herself away. There was no way… 

"Give me a break, okay? It's been a shit night and you followed me for eight blocks. I knew you were there." He turned to the balcony doors, a cocky grin on his face. "You aren't that stealthy." 

That irritated her enough to make her go inside. She kept close to the balcony, left the doors open for a quick escape. "Neither are you. You've been following me since Poland. That was, what? Three countries ago? I'd say that makes you a very bad assassin." 

He grinned, popped the caps off the beers he'd pulled out of the fridge. He set one on the island, took a long pull from the other. "I'm an excellent assassin. My orders were to watch until tonight." 

She spread her arms wide. "Still breathing. That's not usually the goal when I'm sent to assassinate someone." 

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, there were circumstances I was unaware of." 

"Hmm." She sauntered closer; every movement designed to show she wasn't bothered by this man in the least. She took the bottle from the counter, held it out to him. He arched a brow then shrugged again and switched bottles with her. She tipped her head in salute before taking a long drink. "I didn't think it was the American way to offer alcohol to a _child_." 

The emphasis on the word had his brow arching. "Fine, you're not a child. Not considering your… accomplishments. But I have a code. I don't kill kids. Or women. Unless they're really bad and trying to kill me first." He winced. "The women, not the kids. I don't kill those any time." 

She tilted her head, intrigued. "And your handlers allow this?" 

"Well, yeah. I mean, we're supposed to be the good guys. I don't think you get that reputation if you're slaughtering children." 

She snorted, amused. "Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night." 

He frowned, eyes darkening in a way that made her stomach roil with an emotion that she didn't bother to name. This man was a stranger sent to kill her. She had no reason to feel bad that her words had struck an uncomfortable chord with him. 

"Look, I think you know I'm not going to kill you." 

She nodded. "Of course you aren't. You aren't that good." 

He rolled his eyes. "I am absolutely that good, and smart enough to know how hard of a fight it would be. How about a proposition instead?" 

Her eyes narrowed. "You are definitely not good enough to get into my pants on the first date." 

His cheeks flushed. "Not that kind of proposition! A job. A… look, have you ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Avengers Tower – New York_

_2012_

There had been slips and stumbles in the beginning, but their partnership had eventually found its footing and these days there is no one at S.H.I.E.L.D. that gets her as well as Clint does. They've worked with various STRIKE teams over the years, but she's always worked best with Clint. Learning how to work with the Avengers? Reminds her of her early days with S.H.I.E.L.D. 

Living with the team you work with has some advantages. They're all slowly learning one another's quirks off the field which helps coordinate how they work together on the field. Training is more about bonding time than anything else. Luckily, Natasha's had practice with that. 

This morning’s training session has the surprise addition of Tony. Bruce is off on a spiritual retreat (which really means he’s had enough of S.H.I.E.L.D. and needs a break), and Tony seems a bit lost without him. He’s apparently decided to make some upgrades to Clint’s bow that seems to require Clint shooting at little targets that Tony gets J.A.R.V.I.S. to throw up in random patterns around the gym. Clint loves shooting and seems to be enjoying himself. Natasha keeps glancing at him as she spars with Steve, the grin on his face as he bickers with Tony about the various angles that he ends up shooting from making her smile. 

“He seems better,” Steve says quietly, and Natasha’s attention swings back to him. 

“He is. I wasn’t sure that coming here was the right move.” She looks back over towards Tony and Clint. “Being around people has been good for him.” 

“And you?” 

“I guess you boys are okay.” Natasha grins, ducks the punch Steve aims her way. She drops down and sweeps his legs out from under him, laughing when he hits the mat. “You’re entertaining, at least.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, swings to a sitting position. Natasha shakes her head then goes to get their water bottles before joining him on the mat. Steve is still leery of training with them, doesn't know them well enough yet to know their limits. He tends to err on the side of caution and take far more breaks than Natasha needs. They sit and watch Tony and Clint in companionable silence. They're arguing a bit more stridently now. 

"Damn it, Barton, this isn't going to work if you make every shot. I need to calibrate in errors too." 

"I don't fucking miss, Stark." 

Clint's tone is mild, but Natasha knows he means it. She shoots a look at Steve, who grins back at her. She rolls to her feet as Steve comes to his, and they stalk towards the area where Clint and Tony are arguing. Clint notices them first, shoulders going tense as he realizes what's coming. Tony catches on as well, and he's grinning maniacally as he taps some buttons on his tablet. The moving targets start up again, small spheres that are actually shooting their way at Clint as Natasha and Steve attack. Clint curses, ducks and weaves to stay out of their reach as he fires arrow after arrow at the rapidly moving targets. Steve gets in a soft shot at Clint's belly that makes Clint hiss in a breath as he shifts left, going down on a knee as he fires. The arrow misses by less than a millimeter, and Clint glares at Steve. 

"I should shoot you on principle, Cap." 

"But you won't," Steve says, grinning sunnily. 

Clint rolls to his feet and shakes out his bow, turning it into a bo staff. That's a fairly new toy for him and Natasha can't keep in a delighted laugh. This is going to be fun. They spend the next fifteen minutes with Clint whacking at targets like they're baseballs while Steve and Natasha coordinate their attacks. Clint is laughing now, not as upset when he misses, and Steve is smiling in a way he rarely does. There are only three targets left and Steve is ducking under the sphere Clint just smacked toward his head. Natasha sneaks in behind Clint while he's distracted, pulls a knife from her sock. She ducks in low, swipes at Clint a few times with the blade and hits the mat. She rolls neatly to her feet as Clint's workout pants slide down his thighs. He yelps, reaches with one hand to grab at his pants while he tries to hit the last targets coming his way. He misses spectacularly and is no luckier with his pants. They hit the floor, leaving Clint in a bright white jock and his tank top. Tony lets out a wolf whistle. 

"Nice ass, Legolas." 

Clint, who has never been shy in his life, shakes said ass before he bends down to hike his pants back up. He shoots Natasha a look. "I'm calling a penalty on the field for unsportsmanlike conduct." 

She smiles innocently back. "Excuse me? Who had the bad attitude?" She tucks her knife away. "It's training, Clint, not a fight to the death." 

He grins sheepishly. "Yeah, okay, that's fair."


	4. Chapter 4

_S.H.I.E.L.D. Training Facility – Location Classified_

_2004_

It had been nearly a year since Clint Barton had swept into her life and convinced her to join S.H.I.E.L.D. and she still wasn't considered field ready. She'd Americanized her name, worked on thinking like an American until it became natural. She had no alliance to her birthplace, but it would take time before they were convinced of that. She understood it. Her background would always make security clearance a nightmare. She understood not being trusted; she didn't trust them yet either. On the other hand, the inactivity chafed. She spent her days either answering S.H.I.E.L.D. questions and filling out paperwork, or training. Her weapons proficiency was becoming a thing of legend, but that was what happened when you had nothing else to do with your free time. 

Today she was in the gym, working out her frustrations on a bag since there was no one around willing to spar with her. She told herself it didn't matter; none of them could match her except Clint so what good did training with them do? She let her mind wander, not realizing how worked up she was until a touch to her shoulder had her grabbing the intruder's hand and bending the wrist back painfully. 

"Fuck, Tasha, don't break it." Clint was smiling slightly when she turned to meet his gaze. "I need that hand." 

She let go of him, fighting down the embarrassment of having reacted like that. She wasn't on the streets, no one was going to hurt her here, but that didn't stop the vigilance. 

"It'd cramp your dating life, huh?" She managed to tease. 

His smile bloomed real. "Sad, but true. I haven't had time to go out and share all of this awesomeness with anyone else so that hand and I are real friendly these days." 

She grimaced, made a show of wiping her hand on her pants. "Thanks for that." 

This back and forth between them was one of the easiest things she'd ever fallen into. Possibly because while Clint seemed to share any and everything, he really didn't. He kept the important things close and she was learning to read between the lines. She knew the same was true for her. Clint missed nothing, and he was far too easy to talk to. She sometimes found herself sharing bits of herself than she hadn't intended to. 

Clint was humming under his breath as he headed for the mat, pausing long enough to take off his socks and shoes. He walked to the center of the mat, did a couple of warm-up stretches before he beckoned to her. She arched a brow but joined him willingly. She wasn't used to training on her own, and no matter how badly she wanted to leave the Red Room behind, she didn't have enough distance on it yet. 

She went at him hard, the only way she knew how, and he matched her move for move. He was taller than she was, heavier, with more muscle, but she'd been taught to use those advantages against him. She was quicker because she was smaller and that was definitely an advantage. She was in the zone her mind fell into during a fight when he managed to take her feet out from under her. She hit the mat hard, tangled a foot between his to bring him down as well. She straddled him, meant to find a position that would help her keep him pinned, when long fingers found her ribs. She sucked in an involuntary laugh, glared at him as she bounded to her feet. 

Clint grinned back as he got to his feet, braced himself as she launched herself at him. She was confused, starting to get a bit angry, and that grin of his was entirely too amused. She struck out at him and he blocked the bow, moved with her when she pivoted. She raised her arm for another blow, and he ducked in quickly, digging fingers into her armpit. She couldn't stop the laugh this time, and he danced away, laughing like a loon. 

"Alright. What the fuck are you doing, Clint?" 

He grinned, unconcerned with her snappish tone. "Sparring." 

"No, you were tickling me. Do you think that's the best way to take out an opponent?" 

"In the field? Probably not. Might try it though just to see what happens." 

He probably would too. She called him an idiot under her breath, and he laughed again before his face softened. 

"We're just sparring here, Tasha, me and you. No fight to the death." 

She frowned. "But that's… that doesn't make any sense." 

"I know." His eyes were sad. "But we're just learning here. All of us." 

She realized then what he meant. None of the new S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were willing to get in a ring with her once she'd kicked their ass. 

"How are they supposed to learn if you pull of your punches?" 

"Most of them are new, Natasha. They need practice to get better. You're going to break them." 

_Only the breakable ones_ a voice whispered in her mind and she shuddered. Clint reached out but was smart enough not to actually touch her in that moment. 

"That. Wherever you just went. We're not there, okay? No one is getting punished if they're not perfect on the first go around. We're supposed to be training them so that they can back us up in the field. We can't do that if they won't work with you." 

She flushed, had to fight to keep her shoulders from slumping. He knew it because of course he did. She was beginning to think she had no secrets when it came to Clint. 

"Don’t sweat it, okay? Now you know and we can make some changes." He smiled, bounced on his feet. "We can kick ass without damaging anyone and someday we might actually have a decent backup team." 

"Fine. I won't break them." She glared at him. "Except Moore." 

"Oh, yeah, no. That guy's an asshole. He's going to wash out, no question." 

She nodded her head sharply, went to grab her water bottle where it sat on a table near the treadmills. She didn't need it, had been taught to fight through things as inconvenient as thirst, but she supposed that was Clint's point. If she was going to leave her past behind, she had to quit acting the way they'd taught her to. 

Clint came up behind her, worry clear on his face. She offered him her water, and he took it with a relieved smile. 

"Thanks." He took a long drink, capped the bottle and gave it back. "Want to go a few more rounds today?" 

"Sure." She grinned at him, feeling her own tension ease when he relaxed even more. "You can teach me to pull hair. Maybe bite someone. That should be effective in the field." 

He snorted. "Don't knock it if it works, Tash."


	5. Chapter 5

_Avengers Tower – New York_

_2013_

The one-year anniversary of the Battle of New York had come and gone with as much fanfare as a city like New York could manage. Natasha pays little attention to local politics – if something big is going to happen, it’s going to be on a national or international scale – but knows from listening to Tony that the Powers That Be had decided that they needed to show the world that New York had recovered and was bigger and better than ever. Natasha knows that for the PR bullshit that it is because there are still pockets of New York that look like a war zone. Still, the mayor and his wife had dressed up fancy and there had been a party on the public level of the Tower so that people with deep pockets could meet the Avengers and donate to the ongoing clean-up fund. Those kinds of things rarely bother Natasha. She likes to dress up and play at being someone else. It had been hard for Clint, though, and immediately afterward the two of them had disappeared to their favorite island for a long weekend. 

Life in the Tower has a rhythm now. She spars with Steve and gets coffee with him regularly, bugs Tony in the lab when he forgets to come out for meals. Bruce is still hit or miss, and Thor is usually busy on Asgard, but the core four of the team work together like a well-oiled machine. Clint had cackled like a maniac the first time she’d said that. 

“Sure. And if things go crazy, we can just squirt some lube in the mix. Get it all slippery again.” 

Steve had frowned and tossed a piece of wadded up paper at Clint’s head. “Stop turning everything into a sex joke or we’re going to have to sit through another of Hill’s seminars.” 

“Excuse you. I didn’t make it a sex joke. You _assumed_ and made it a sex joke. This is all on you, Cap.” 

It amuses Natasha and gives her a warm feeling to watch Clint connect with the guys like that. For so long, it’s been the two of them against the world, and while that’s enough for both of them, she thinks it’s good that Clint is making other friends. He tends to distance himself from people unless he has to interact, and she worries about him. They each get sent out on solo missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. and she likes knowing he has people around him when she’s gone. 

Life now is also this weird mix of private and public. For Steve’s birthday (Clint swears the 4th of July is a gimmick; Steve swears it’s not) they have a glittering, star-studded bash in the public ballroom. The barbeque they throw the next night at a secluded lakefront property Tony owns is Avengers and friends only, and Steve is much more relaxed and happier for that one. It’s odd for the team, but Tony is used to living two lives and he’s full of advice. Sometimes unsolicited, but usually helpful. They manage to navigate these things together, it’s almost as easy as when they’re in the field. 

As the Avengers, they haven’t faced anymore aliens (which Natasha is thankful for), but there are still things that the entire team gets sent out on. While there might not currently be a Loki looking to take over the world, there’s always a faction looking to take over their small corner of it. And there are still Stark manufactured weapons that are in the wrong hands thanks to Obadiah Stane. Getting those weapons back is personal for Tony, but they’re not going to let him do it alone. 

Between those kinds of things and missions for S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha stays busy and it’s the holiday season before she knows it. They’d celebrated her birthday because Clint loves that kind of stuff (she assumes it’s because it’s not something he was allowed to do as a child) and then Thanksgiving, and then December had arrived. Tony is a little more subdued than they’re used to, and they all know that he lost his parents in December. Still, he’s trying. None of them have ever really had a normal Christmas; maybe Steve but that had been over seventy years ago, so it doesn’t really count. It seems as if every private level of the floor is decorated in some fashion, and the communal floor looks a little like Macy’s threw up on it. Makes sense, she supposes. It’s Pepper’s favorite store, and Tony is overcompensating for the fact that he holed up in his lab on the 15th and they hadn’t seen him for three days. 

Steve had refused to let Tony buy cookies, even though none of them know how to bake. He’d insisted on learning and Clint had shrugged and volunteered to help. They’ve been watching a lot of baking shows on Food Network. The partnership probably shouldn’t work – Steve is a stickler for following a recipe while Clint eyes things and assumes any ingredient amount is a suggestion – and their first few batches bear that out. The cookies are awful, but it makes Steve more determined. By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, he and Clint have made dozens of cookies of varying types and while they might not look perfect, they are delicious. 

None of them really have any family to speak of, and they spend Christmas Eve together. Tony had been allowed to cater in dinner since that was definitely beyond any of their skills. Bruce joins them, looking a little ill at ease at first, but he settles in quickly. Thor doesn’t make it in until after dinner, but he seems content with cookies and liquor. He has some sort of Asgardian alcohol that actually affects Steve and they’re all pretty mellow as they lounge around the television with after dinner drinks. _Die Hard_ plays in the background because Clint had won that argument. _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ is queued up after that because both Tony and Clint love it. She has no idea what will make the list after that. Clint is vehemently opposed to _A Christmas Story_ and Tony has similar feelings when it comes to _A Christmas Carol_. Probably _Holiday Inn_ she thinks, given how shyly Steve had asked if Tony could find it. He’d mentioned seeing it with Bucky, though he didn’t say when or where and no one wanted to ask. None of them really shy away from asking personal questions anymore, but there are some subjects that are strictly off limits. 

By the time the Who’s are getting their Christmas back, they’re all pleasantly plastered, even Steve. He’s leaning against Thor, Bruce tucked up in the corner on Thor’s other side. Tony is lounging against Pepper, and he looks happier than Natasha has seen him all month. He catches her looking and winks at her. She rolls her eyes, fingers carding through Clint’s hair. He’s sprawled across her lap like a contented house cat. On the television, the Who’s are all gathered in the town square. Clint snickers, waves a hand toward the scene. 

“Just like Budapest, huh?” 

She snorts out a laugh when Steve throws an M&M at Clint. Tony sits up, glaring at them indignantly, but Clint is too busy catching the candy in his mouth to notice. 

“No,” Tony says, shaking a finger their direction like they’re errant toddlers. “The super spies don’t get to have cute little in jokes they won’t share with the class.” 

He’s right, in a way. It has become kind of an in joke. Ever since she had made the comment someone will always bring up Budapest. She knows Clint has no idea what she had been talking about, but he never rats her out. Now it’s become almost a running gag, which is fine with her. 

“Sorry, Tony,” Clint says, sounding anything but. “It’s classified.” 

“Doesn’t explain why Steve doesn’t know,” Tony counters. “He has S.H.I.E.L.D. clearance.” 

Clint sits up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Sure he does. But I outrank him.” 

Tony’s mouth drops open in shock. “Bullshit. He’s a Captain.” 

“Well, yeah. In the Army.” Clint’s grin goes smug. “Not at S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

Tony looks toward Steve, aghast. “Are you hearing this bullshit, Rogers?” 

“’s not bullshit.” Steve’s words are slurring a little, and Natasha probably shouldn’t find it cute. “I think I’m level six.” 

Tony narrows his eyes, looks at Natasha. “What about you, Romanoff?” 

“Since it used to be Romanova, I’m sure you can guess.” 

As an ex-Russian asset, her security levels tend to change with the tides. Tony doesn’t look like he’s going to accept that. She sighs. 

“I’m a six as well.” 

“Aww. You’ll always be a ten to me, babe,” Clint says and kisses her nose. 

She rolls her eyes as everyone laughs. Tony is scowling as he fishes a tablet out from under the sofa. Natasha supposes she shouldn’t be surprised; he has them squirreled away everywhere. He’s tapping away on it and frowning in confusion. Steve sits up, watching avidly. 

“Are you hacking S.H.I.E.L.D.?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised, Cap. I hack S.H.I.E.L.D. every other week or so. Got to know what they’re up to.” He frowns down at something on his screen. “Well, I'll be damned, Robin. Level seven.” 

Clint smirks. “Told you so.” 

Tony waves a dismissive hand toward him. “It’s fine. Now that I’m here, I’ll just find Budapest on my own.” 

Clint sneaks a look at Natasha; she shrugs. Nothing he finds there is going to answer his question for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungarian translation in this chapter was done by the lovely Tiny_Dragongirl

_Budapest_

_2006_

Natasha stared out the hotel window, impatience thrumming through her blood. It had taken longer than she thought it should have to get cleared for field duty and so far, it had been mostly milk runs. This was the first major mission she had been sent on with Clint, and she was more than ready to finally prove herself to S.H.I.E.L.D. The click of the lock had her turning to face the door, hand instinctively coming to rest above her gun even though the only person with a key was Clint. He carried several bags inside, glanced up and grinned when he saw her appearance. 

"Nice. The brunette is definitely better than that platinum blonde." 

She huffed out a breath, but secretly agreed with him. Still, a cover was only about looking good if that was the point. She had become a master of disguise during her years as a spy and tended to change her look often whether she was on a job or not. Clint never did; he'd laughingly told her that Midwestern farm boy was a generic enough disguise all on its own. 

They’d been debriefed at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and given their cover stories. Natasha wasn’t sure why playing married would give them any sort of edge, but she could admit that it might be because she’d never had a partner to play married with. Plus, their target wasn’t supposed to end up dead and that might have something to do with it. Their current orders were to wait and watch and gather intel. That she was used to. Not shooting someone afterwards? That would be new. 

Once Natasha had been cleared for field duty, Phil Coulson had become her handler because he was Clint’s. He was in charge on this op, and that was going to take some getting used to. After fleeing the Red Room, Natasha contracted whatever jobs she wanted and handled them however she wanted to. Gathering intel was bad enough but now she couldn’t even move without Coulson’s say so. That chafed, but she was willing to see how it went. At least she was finally back out in the field. 

After they finished putting their things away, and hiding weapons away from housekeeping eyes, Clint did a check-in call with Phil. When he hung up, he gave her a beaming smile. 

“Let’s go play, tourist!” 

“That’s our mission?” 

“Sort of. They want us to watch Brossette, get a feel for his routine. He’s got dual degrees from Corvinus and he visits the faculty there all the time. He’s got on office near Városliget.” Natasha smiled at that; Clint’s pronunciation wasn’t horrible, but it was clear he wasn’t very familiar with the places they’d see. “According to Phil’s sources, he always goes to one of the nearby cafés for lunch. Does some shopping.” 

“Must be tough, being a wealthy terrorist.” 

“If only he’d use his powers for good.” 

“You’re sense of humor is atrocious. Has anyone told you that?” 

“Couple people.” Clint grinned at her. “I just assumed they were lying.” 

They left the hotel and headed toward Váci Street. They’d both read the file on their target and had memorized the important details, including his face. Hopefully he’d be easy enough to spot once they reached their destination. 

"I can’t believe this is a holdover from a mission Fury did during the Cold War.” Natasha shook her head. 

“Yeah, well.” Clint shrugged. “They were looking for a CIA mole and found one. Guess they never bothered looking for a second one.” 

A mistake that had let their target firmly entrench himself in Budapest for the last three decades. He had his fingers in far too many pies. Dual degrees in finance and business economy meant he knew exactly what buttons to push to cause catastrophes that were usually blamed on a shaky economy. He was dangerous, and it had taken far too long for S.H.I.E.L.D. and its counterparts to figure out who this man was. 

“Tell me how a French national becomes a CIA agent in the first place?” 

“Dual citizenship. And he must have been smart enough to hide anything shady when they did his background check. Hell, this was almost thirty-five years ago. Who knows how extensive checks were then?” 

Natasha had to give him that one. Pre-9-/11 was a different world when it came to that kind of thing. Sighing, she hooked her arm through his and plastered on a besotted smile. If they were supposed to be newlyweds, they should at least act the part. 

“Next question.” 

“Shoot.” 

“How does a guy born in Iowa choose Hungary as his honeymoon destination?” 

Clint burst out laughing. “I don’t think S.H.I.E.L.D. gives that much thought to their cover stories.” 

“They should,” Natasha sniffed. “I’d hate for us to end up dead over something like that.” 

They wandered past Brossette’s office only to find it closed for the day. Going by his house yielded nothing. Rather than give up, they headed toward Vörösmarty Square in the hopes they’d stumble across him at one of the places he was known to frequent. Several hours of wandering familiarized them with the territory but didn’t gain them even a glimpse of Brossette. They had paused in a corner of the square, cups of hot chocolate in hand, to discuss what to do next, when movement out of the corner of her eye made Natasha pause. 

There should have been nothing alarming about the man making his way down a sidewalk just to the right of where they’d stopped. He’d not looking in their direction, didn’t seem to be focused on them at all, but something was making the hair on the back of Natasha’s neck stand up. Clint was still debating the merits of heading back to stake out Brossette’s house when Natasha shoved her cup into his hand and headed for the sidewalk the stranger had disappeared down. 

“What the... Nat, where are you going?” 

She ignored him, focused on getting eyes on her target once again. Fingers grabbed at her coat sleeve and she whirled around, twisting out of his grip. She had to force herself to remember that Clint was her partner; instinct told her to lash out when restrained. His eyes widened when he caught the look on her face. 

“Jesus Christ, Nat. What the hell is wrong?” 

She took a deep breath, trying to force herself to calm down. “A man just disappeared down that block over there.” 

“Brossette?” 

“No, but I’m sure I recognized him.” The way he had moved was familiar, even if she hadn’t really seen his face. “He trained me, in the Red Room.” 

Clint’s eyes were sympathetic, and she wanted to growl at him. “If he isn’t Brossette, then he isn’t our problem.” 

She stared at him a moment before whirling around and continuing back on the course that would let her follow the mysterious stranger. She heard Clint cursing behind her, ignored him in favor of walking faster. There’d been more time than she wanted between when she’d first spotted the man and when he’d disappeared from view. She’d be lucky if she hadn’t lost him. 

She knew Clint was following her, noticed they were garnering some attention. Part of her knew that was bad, that she could be blowing their cover, but she had to know if she’d been right. Had to know if she knew the man who exuded danger just by walking down the street. 

When Natasha reached the end of the block, she paused. The bright Christmas lights from the square had just started coming on as dusk fell, but this area was dim. She had no idea which way she should go, didn’t have so much as a glimpse of her target. Clint was still several paces behind her when she decided and went right. She hadn’t made it more than a few steps when a gloved hand shot out from a shadowed doorway and grabbed her hair, yanking her into the dark. 

She kicked back, booted foot connecting with his knee. He made no sound, fingers tightening in her hair before he shoved her against the rough brick wall. His eyes were covered by sunglasses even as the sunlight faded, a winter cap pulled down low to completely cover his hair. He was clean-shaven, giving her no hints as to the color. If he dumped his outer clothing, hat, and shades, she'd pass him on a sidewalk and never know it. 

"Miért követsz engem?" 

His Hungarian was precise, devoid of any inflection or accent. She couldn't place his voice, but she knew the way he moved. _Knew_ this man had been a trainer in the Red Room. Before she could speak, Clint appeared, barreling into the man. She was let go as the stranger focused on Clint, throwing a punch that Clint dodged easily. She found herself frozen in place, watching them. Fighting was an intricate dance, and she knew she'd be able to move in sync with this fighter in way she hadn't yet matched with Clint. 

She was shaken from her reverie when Clint was slammed against the wall, a grunt of pain forced from his lips. She moved then, advancing on the stranger's right. He caught her movement, kicked back at her and connecting with her hip, sending her careening across the alley and into an opposite wall. Clint cursed, threw a punch that was blocked. The stranger threw a punch of his own that knocked Clint to his knees. The man looked back at her, hesitated, then took off down the alley. He was gone in seconds. Natasha groaned, rolled to her feet. She went to kneel by Clint, put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away. 

"Are you hurt?" 

He lifted his head, blue-green eyes flashing fire and she knew then that he was furious. "What the fuck was that?" 

She lifted her chin, defiant. "I told you. I recognized him from the Red Room." 

"And I told you that he wasn't our concern. You could have blown our cover back there." 

"Not possible." 

Though she knew it was. Brossette hadn't been doing this as long as he had without developing instincts. If he suspected he was being watched, this could have alerted him. Shame curled low in her belly, and she didn't like the feeling. Had never had cause to feel it before. She stood, shoved her hands in her pockets as Clint came to his feet. He shook his head as if clearing fog, and she felt something else mingle with the shame. 

Remorse. 

"You're going to bruise," she said quietly. 

"Yeah." Clint rubbed a careful hand along his jaw. "Think the fucker had brass knuckles under his gloves. Surprised he didn't break my god damn jaw." 

"Come on. Let's get you back to the hotel." 

She kept her voice matter of fact with effort. Clint was moving slowly, and he let her snake an arm around his waist. She was afraid he was more injured than he let on. Even though she chafed at being out in the open like this with Clint hurt, she didn't hurry him. She told herself it was because it would have drawn notice to them among the crowd lazily enjoying the Christmas sights. 

At the hotel, they were lucky enough not to encounter anyone in the lobby. They escaped to the privacy of their shared room, where Clint immediately slipped out of his shirt as she locked the door. She turned, winced at the bruises he was examining on his ribs. He looked up, managed a smile for her. 

"I've had worse. Shouldn't slow me down any." 

She made a noncommittal hum as she went to grab the ice bucket. Leaving to get ice was practical, she told herself. And if it gave her time to get a grip on her emotions? That was no one's business but hers. When she got back to the room, Clint had washed up and changed into the comfortable clothes she knew he liked to lounge around in. She busied herself getting a hand towel from the bathroom and making a makeshift ice pack before joining Clint on the sofa in the sitting area. 

Clint turned his head toward her, and she reached out to gently turn him away. She studied the dark shadow on his jaw, knew it was going to be a deep bruise. She handed over the ice pack; he took it with a grin, winced a little as he held it against his face. Natasha took a breath, trying to find words. Apologies were unheard of in her world, but she found herself wanting to make one anyway. Instead, she reached up to skim her fingers along the back of his hand. His gaze jerked to hers, surprise clear in his eyes. She felt her cheeks coloring, but he didn't call her out on it. He just knocked his knee against hers. 

"Gonna have to raid your disguise bag of goodies," Clint said lightly. "I don't have enough time to grow a beard to cover this bruise and we don't want to stand out like that." He shot her another of his grins. "Not to mention I look like shit with a beard." 

She frowned at him. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to let us finish this mission after today?" 

"Well, yeah. Because I'm not going to tell them." He shrugged. "Nothing happened, we can still finish the mission so…" He met her gaze then, and his expression was as serious as she'd ever seen it. "But it can't happen again. If I'm going to give you my back, I have to know you're going to cover it." 

"Clint…" 

"You don't have to say anything, not right now. My head hurts and I just want food and sleep." His lips quirked. "Maybe some aspirin. When we get up in the morning, we can decide then." 

The rest of the evening was uncomfortable for Natasha. It was clear Clint was in pain, but he did no more than take some aspirin from the kit in his bag and go for more ice. They ordered room service, watched television in more or less silence. When Clint was half asleep, she excused herself to shower. She spent a long time under the hot spray, thinking. 

Clint was asleep on the sofa when she came out. Natasha knew the bed would be more comfortable, knew instinctively he wouldn't take it if she offered. She paced in the bedroom, miniscule hotel towel not doing anything to ward off the slight chill of the room. She knew nothing about caretaking, less about how to apologize for everything that happened. Finally, she decided on a course of action. She turned up the radiator in the room, dropped the towel on a chair. His things were mixed with hers in the closet and the bureau and she dug out one of his button-down shirts. She pulled it on, buttoned a couple of buttons over her breasts, fluffed out her hair. 

He'd forgotten to close the curtains, she noticed when she walked back into the sitting area. She closed them against any possible prying eyes, approached the sofa. He was sleeping soundly, which was a surprise. She wouldn't have thought he was comfortable enough with her to do that, not after her colossal screwup. She squared her shoulders, went and sat next to him on the sofa. She reached out to run a careful hand up his arm. His eyes opened immediately; confusion clear even in the flickering light from the television. 

"Tash? 's wrong?" 

"Nothing's wrong." 

She smiled at him as she moved to straddle his thighs. She heard his breath catch as his hands went to her thighs. Then he froze as he clearly became aware that she wasn't wearing anything under his shirt. She kept her smile in place, eyes on his as she unbuttoned the shirt. 

"Natasha. What are you doing?" 

She chuckled, voice a throaty purr as she rested her hands on his chest. "Isn't it obvious?" 

"Well, yes and no. I know what you're doing. I don't get why." 

She ran a hand up her chest, felt his breathing hitch again when her nails slid over his nipple. "Let me make you feel better." 

He sat up so fast he nearly unseated her. Cursing, he managed to catch her before she could fall. She laughed, grabbed at his shoulders. "Slow down, cowboy. We've got all night." 

"Tasha, don't." 

"Clint, let me." 

"This isn't any kind of apology I need you to make." 

That shocked her enough that the façade fell, and she knew he could read the confusion on her face. He smiled, but it looked sad. 

"Yeah, I figured that was what this was." 

She'd not told him much about her past, yet he always seemed to know more than what she'd said. She straightened her spine, hated the feeling of being known. Of being seen. Even by him. 

"If you don't want to…" 

"It's not about that and you know it. You don't ever have to do this again." 

Her laugh was far more bitter than she intended it to be. "If you believe that, you're in the wrong business." 

There was that sad smile again as he reached out to start doing up the buttons on her shirt. His fingers were trembling, and she frowned as she watched him. She'd never known his hands to be anything less than steady. 

"You never have to do that with _me_. Not without enthusiastic consent on both sides. We both know that's not what this is." 

Stunned, she let him gently push her off his lap. He made his excuses, disappeared into the bathroom. She went to sit on the end of the bed, perplexed. She'd never failed before. Not in any sort of capacity when it came to a mission, and certainly not when it came to seduction. The bathroom door opened, and she found herself studying Clint with new eyes when he emerged. 

"Come to bed," she said quietly. 

He groaned. "I thought we went over this." 

"To sleep," she said firmly. "I'll put more clothes on." She grinned, small but real. "I promise not to come on to you again. But you need the rest, and the bed is more comfortable." He seemed torn; she stood and went to grab pajamas from the dresser. "Don't blow our cover, Clint. We're married." 

He grumbled under his breath, but it seemed to be for show. She went into the bathroom to change into the pajamas, and when she came out, he was under the blankets. She turned off the television before she joined him. The bed wasn't huge, but they managed to keep a respectable distance. She curled onto her side, studied his face in the shadows. 

"Clint?" 

"Hmm?" 

He sounded nearly asleep, making her smile. 

"I'm sorry." 

His grin flashed in the dark as he reached out to gently poke her ribs. "See? Not hard." 

She rolled her eyes, poked him back. She was almost asleep herself when he said quietly "I forgive you." She fell asleep with that stupid little grin of his dancing in her mind. 

The next morning, Clint acted as if nothing had happened. The dark bruise now covered his jaw and the bottom of his cheekbone. He insisted nothing was broken, refused to see a doctor. She grumbled at him under her breath as she carefully covered the bruise in foundation. After, he admired her handiwork in the mirror. 

"Looks perfect. I think we're set to tackle the day." 

They checked in with the S.H.I.E.L.D. team watching Jules Brossette's home to find out the man hadn't been seen all evening. Worried that he'd been tipped off somehow, they headed for his office. The place was still closed so they split up to query some of the occupants of the other offices. Natasha learned nothing, but Clint was grinning when he came out. 

"Jackpot! He's on a three-day retreat with some new client. Apparently, he's the kind of jackass that likes to brag. Nobody on that floor likes him." 

"How did S.H.I.E.L.D. miss that?" 

Clint shrugged. "Sounds spur of the moment. I'll let Phil know though. Could be a problem if someone actually missed it." 

Clint checked in, listened carefully to whatever Phil told him before pocketing his phone. He clapped his gloved hands together, practically bouncing on his toes. 

"We won't get a shot at Brossette until tomorrow. Today, we play newlywed tourists." 

"I thought we did that yesterday." 

"Come on, Tasha. Live a little! We'll call it reconnaissance." 

She grumbled under her breath but took his arm when he offered it. He was in a good mood, and it was impossible not to feel her spirits lighten in the face of his obvious joy. 

They used the tram, Clint transfixed by the view of the Danube. He read from the guide they'd picked up in the hotel, pointing out sights as they came up. He was incredibly excited by Buda Castle, practically bouncing in his seat and making Natasha laugh. 

"Come on, Nat. It's a castle. An actual fucking castle. We don't have those where I'm from." 

He was like a kid at Christmas, appropriately enough, and Natasha found herself watching him more than the view. She was almost sorry when the tram ended its route at Jászai Mari Square. The guidebook led them to Margaret Island, and Clint's enthusiasm hadn't waned a bit. He seemed fascinated by the water, and he laughed when she pointed it out. 

"I guess I am, yeah. I grew up surrounded by cornfields and cows. I only ever saw oceans and shit like that in books or movies." He glanced at her, looking a little self-conscious. "There's something really peaceful about water, I guess." 

She tucked her arm in his and rested her chin on his shoulder. "There is." She smiled up at him. "Where does your book say we should go now?" 

"The book doesn't care, but my stomach is growling so I'm voting for food." 

Despite that, they took their time making their way back to Vörösmarty Square. Once there, it wasn't hard to pick a café. They lingered over lunch, watching the people out enjoying the Christmas market. Holidays weren't something Natasha had experience with, but she had to admit the atmosphere was catching. She found herself smiling more easily than was normal, even laughing at Clint's horrible jokes. 

After lunch they wandered the square. Clint picked up little trinkets here and there, gorged himself on the ridiculous amount of Christmas goodies that were for sale. She had no idea how he had the room after the large lunch they'd just had, but Clint always managed to put away a surprising amount of food. 

They split up a bit, each of them perusing whatever stall caught their attention. There was a stall with obviously handmade jewelry that caught Natasha's eye. She was looking over the pieces on offer, attention straying occasionally to Clint. The elderly woman manning the stall finished her transaction and made her way to Natasha's side. She hummed at the display Natasha was looking at, then followed her gaze. 

"A férje?" 

Natasha pulled her gaze from Clint. "Tessék?" 

The woman smiled, her gaze dropping to the gold band on Natasha's finger. "Még nem kopott meg a fénye." 

That made Natasha grin. "Még nem. Nászúton vagyunk." 

"Á," the woman said knowingly. "Ajándékot keres neki?" 

Natasha bit her lip in thought, shook her head. "Nem, magamnak. Egy szép emléket." 

The woman watched quietly as Natasha continued to check out the pieces. Something in a case to her left caught her eye. The shopkeeper brought it out for her and when the sunlight glinted off the delicate gold chain Natasha knew she had found it. 

Clint wandered over as the woman turned away, smiling when he noticed that Natasha had chosen something. "About time you found something for yourself. This place is great." 

Natasha smiled at him, waited quietly while the woman rung up her purchase, then wrapped it carefully. Clint’s attention had wandered off again by the time the shopkeeper came back. She smiled as she handed over Natasha's package. 

"A férje nagyon jóképű." 

"Ugye?" 

"Jól választott," the woman said decisively. "Tartsa meg." 

"Honnan tudja?" Natasha asked, curious. 

The woman nodded toward Clint. He was watching some kids run around the square with cotton candy and grinning widely. 

"Látja azt a mosolyt? Jó mosoly. A rossz embereknek nem bujkál napsütés a mosolyában." 

Natasha watched Clint thoughtfully, turned back to the woman who was grinning knowingly. "Élvezzék a nászút hátralévő részét." 

"Úgy lesz," Natasha replied automatically. 

She was quiet as they wandered down the block, heading back to the hotel. Finally, Clint nudged her. "You okay?" 

"Of course." She smiled up at him. "I'm not exactly used to missions going like this." 

Clint laughed. "I wouldn't get used to it. I never get sent to cool places like this." 

Clint had barely finished speaking when his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket with a grimace. "See? We jinxed it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations -
> 
> "Miért követsz engem?" - Why are you following me?
> 
> "A férje?" - Your husband?
> 
> "Tessék?" - Excuse me?
> 
> "Még nem kopott meg a fénye." - You haven't lost the shine yet.
> 
> "Még nem. Nászúton vagyunk." - No, not yet. We're on our honeymoon.
> 
> "Ajándékot keres neki?" - Are you looking for a gift for him?
> 
> "Nem, magamnak. Egy szép emléket." - No, for me. A good memory.
> 
> "A férje nagyon jóképű." - Your husband is very handsome.
> 
> "Ugye?" - He is, isn't he?
> 
> "Jól választott," "Tartsa meg." - You have found a good one. You keep him.
> 
> "Honnan tudja?" - How do you know?
> 
> "Látja azt a mosolyt? Jó mosoly. A rossz embereknek nem bujkál napsütés a mosolyában." - You see that smile? That's a good smile. Bad men don't have sunshine in their smile.
> 
> "Élvezzék a nászút hátralévő részét." - Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.
> 
> "Úgy lesz." - We will.


	7. Chapter 7

_Avengers Tower – New York_

_2013_

Natasha runs her finger over the delicate arrow that rests at the hollow of her throat. Clint had been right; their target had come home early, and they'd been sent in to retrieve him. They'd gone in that night and spirited the man away to a S.H.I.E.L.D. team that had gotten him out of the country. The next morning, Clint and Natalie Lockwood had checked out of their hotel and headed off on the next leg of their honeymoon. 

Natasha smiles as she thinks about it. She'd learned to trust him in Budapest. That downtime during the mission had allowed her a look at who Clint Barton really was underneath the agent. Over the years, they'd grown closer and she'd never had cause to regret placing her trust in him. And she'd made damn sure that he never regretted trusting her to have his back. 

A curse drags her attention to Tony, who is scrolling through his tablet with a scowl on his face. "There's nothing here. How can there be nothing here?" He sends a glare Natasha's way, but there's no actual anger in it. "What kind of magic do you wield?" 

"Face it, Tony," Clint cackles. "You're no match for Nat." 

Tony makes an outraged noise and tosses his tablet aside. He dives toward Clint who rolls off the sofa and scrambles to get away, laughing the whole time. Steve grins and joins in, the three of them rolling around on the floor like kids. Thor gives a booming war cry that shakes the rafters before he dives into the fray. She hears Clint make an honest to god squeak that sends her into gales of laughter. Clint's blond head pops out of the pile of superheroes and he shoves a hand out toward Natasha. 

"Save me, Tasha." 

"I think you're doing just fine." 

"I've been betrayed!" Clint cries with a fake look of shock on his face. "I thought you loved me." 

"Love is for children," she sniffs. 

Clint beams big and wide, that real grin that always melts her heart. "But I'm just a big kid at heart." 

A big hand shoots out of the pile of bodies and grabs Clint's waistband, pulling a yelping Clint back into the battle. 

"I suppose that would explain why he nearly got depantsed by a Norse god," Bruce says solemnly as he joins Natasha on her now vacant sofa. 

She smiles and knocks a careful shoulder against his. They sit in companionable enough silence, watching the four crazy people rolling around on the carpet. She can hear Clint laughing, and contentment warms her. That woman in Budapest had been right; Clint is one of the good ones. 

Natasha knows that he doesn’t have a clue what she'd meant when she'd compared the fight to Budapest. He doesn't need to. He'll back her up anyway because that's who he is. Besides, Budapest doesn't have that significance for him. He'd learned to trust her, to love her, in his own way and time. Budapest just happened to be hers. The trust that had begun there had grown over the years, and now he's her family. Her person. Her ride and die. Whatever phrase you wanted to use, that was Clint for her. 

She'd felt that same possibility on the street in New York with buildings falling around them and the whine of alien weapons in her ears. It was in the way Steve had taken her word on Clint with no question. It was in the way Tony had trusted Clint's observations during battle. The way Steve and Thor had complemented one another's fighting styles despite being worlds apart. Hell, even Hulk had listened to Steve in the end. They were rusty, sure, but they were learning to work together. 

Family isn't always apple pie and a big house with a white picket fence. Sometimes it's a simple guy with an extraordinary ability who sees something in you that you didn't see yourself. Sometimes it's a group of flawed superheroes in a hi-rise in New York, each trying to make the world a safer place. Hers is changing, becoming something else. She isn't afraid of the change. She knows Clint will be by her side, steady and rock-solid no matter what comes their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to Tiny-Dragongirl for the moodboard that inspired this fic!


End file.
